When Sorrow Breaks
by banalheart
Summary: A Satyr begins to forget his fae self and strugels to record everything about his pooka lover that he can, lest he forget him.


I've never been the type that gets sentimental, never been one for talking just to hear myself talk. It takes a lot now days to sit in front of my computer and write like I did in the past. It seems so trivial, writing... like it holds so little meaning when once it meant everything. I suppose the world is once again eating away at what little dream I have left. It's not like I expected anything less. Danny always told me that it would happen, that the spark he sensed in me would wither and die eventually, leaving me as mundane as all the others sots. My only regret is that Toy couldn't be here with me, in the few moments of inspiration and creativity I have left. I'm sure to forget it all, as the mists roll in to cloud my memories of a life mortals cannot know. Maybe it's for the best. I can't go back there, not anymore... and I can't live with not being there. Dreams, my friend... dreams. They're the stuff of legend, the place we all go to escape from the shyte that accumulates on a day to day basis. A place in which Fae dance with creatures forgotten and lords and ladies of eras gone by hold court each night as they fight to hold onto the last bit of hope their dreamers can offer them. I've been there, in that land of vivid colors and longing, I've danced with boys with cat whiskers and water balloons. It's where I met Toy.  
  
At the age of 16 I was ready to find a life ripe with the taste of passion, ready to leave family life behind for something that seemed ever so much better only to find it all tragically flawed. Slowly I made my way into a world barren of hope and love, spiraling into the consuming pit called life, eager for an end. That was the way of it... until I met Toy. Ours was never a glorious life, one filled with mirth and laughter. It was simple, grisly... real.  
  
It was an evening of revelry, muggy with the residual heat of a southern summer day, when I met him. The humidity was of the type that makes you uncomfortable in your own skin. I'd have never met him if it weren't for that rain shower, never have known something as pure as his soul could exist in this time and place. It's what Toy likes to call D'an- simple cosmic fate, and so long as we're together I haven't the will to think otherwise.  
  
It's not easy, recalling the first meeting between we two. Don't get me wrong, I remember it all in horridly clear detail, but it pains me. It's hard to keep the well of bitter tears from over running sometimes, and tears tend to get all caught in the keys and such. It's never easy.  
  
The club was thick with artificial smoke, accentuated with hues of green and red and blue that pulsed with the music which blared from speakers strategically placed around the too small club. What passed for the dance floor was full of kids squirming in whatever the latest dance was, at the bar the kids sat drinking whichever poisons they were served. It was a scene repeated every time I walked into Troopers. The day had been long. I had down stacked two trucks and priced them, dealt with women of various assortments of white trash, and generally sucked up to the freight manager for the last 12 hours and wanted nothing more than to crash in the court yard and maybe score a quick fix. It wasn't hard to do- finding drugs of any type here. The courtyard was the best place for it. Here, the stereotypical drug abusing slutty gay male persona was fact.  
  
I never made it to the courtyard that evening. I was stopped in my tracks by a vision that took my breath away, like jumping into Cold Creek a week before summer.  
  
He danced like all the others, a kid, dressed like a kid, in the fashion of the club kids. He glistened with sweat, gyrating to the repetitive sound of the track that the coked up drag queen DJ was butchering. By all accounts I shouldn't have noticed him. Boys like that abounded here, but something was different. Perhaps it was the wild abandon that he exhibited, a yearning for pleasure at whatever cost, as if he were trying to do and say and feel everything he could as fast as he could. His dance was reckless, simply for enjoyment, with no thought as to what others thought about him. Nothing mattered to him but the pulse, the beat and the moment.  
  
Perhaps that's what attracted me to him at first. Perhaps it was simply, like Toy says, D'an. It's easy to think that, to write it all off as fate, a romantic notion, unprovable. I've never known what it was, and eventually I just quit thinking about it, accepting it for what it was.  
  
He was dressed in black form fitting cargos, with what was obviously his litter sister's shirt. It was too small, tight upon his too lean frame exposing his midriff. A simple black number with pink script which read "Fridge Pickle". Such clothing seemed odd on a boy that also sported a leather collar, costume cat ears and heavy wrist restraints. I remember thinking that the only thing missing was a rainbow dog leash only moments before he produced one.  
  
I sat watching him from across the bar, sipping my drink slowly as I didn't have the money for another. It was as if time paused in it's infinite waltz for a moment, a glorious second in which only this creature existed, and he existed only for me. He slunk towards the bar, ordering a bottle of mineral water, sipping quickly before our eyes met. He offered me a grin of the type which causes something in your crotch to melt, and danced back to the floor. I continued to watch him, with little doubt in my mind that he would soon be making his way into the single stall bathroom towards the back of the club with someone else. It honestly surprised me when thirty minuets later, as I sat nursing a third drink offered by one of my ex's-now a bar top dancer at this club, Toy tapped me on the shoulder and asked for a light. The hand rolled object dangling from his lips smelt faintly of clove and pipe tobacco of the cheapest sort, a distinct scent which to this day conjures images of him, naked beneath my white cotton Martha Stewart sheets, like a sideshow swami in a traveling show.  
  
With a swift motion, he thrust the leash into my hand and smiled, creating in me a feeling that I've never recovered from. He slunk back towards the dance floor, tugging at the leash in my hand as I sat dumbstruck by the perfection of the moment. With a pleading look he beckoned me onto the floor with him, into the mass, into the smoke- a world rarely frequented, a place unlike any other. The sounds faded, the lights dimmed, the smoke died into a mist that settled across the floor like morning dew and there was only us, only this, only... him. He drew closer to me, pressing against me as he rose on his toes to whisper in my ear.  
  
" My body's talking to me, it says time for danger. it says I wanna commit a crime, wanna be the cause of a fight, wanna put on a tight skirt and flirt with a stranger. "  
  
I gave him a quisical look, I'm sure, for he simply ran a finger across my lips.  
  
" Forget regret, or life is yours to miss."  
  
With this simple credo he created the basis of our entire relationship, a foundation upon which emotion I'd never felt came to be built.  
  
It's amazing how quickly we fall into the roles we're given sometimes. Amazing how easily I took to Toy. The leash felt natural in my hand, as if it, and the kid on the end of it were all just an extension of my being. I was elated. Never before had I felt so in control, so trusted. Never before had anyone ever given themselves to me in this manner, completely, entirely. Toy was mine, if only for the night.  
  
Somehow we found ourselves at 514, a small gay owned bistro on the fruit loop that had, for some unknown reason, stayed open for the evening. Sitting at a table in the far rear of the place, with Toy tied to my chair, sitting obediently at my feet, we talked into the late evening, recounting tails of family, history, friends and lovers. I told him of how my family had recently disowned me, and he told me of how his father had beaten him before he left for school this morning. Tails of the past came easily, things I'd never told anyone else, stories I had thought too painful to recount. All of it came out with Toy, and it all seemed right.  
  
I never expected him to tell me that he had HIV, never really understood how deeply it would affect me. I remember how I simply starred for a moment, so totally afraid. Not of catching it, but of losing him, after I had finally found him. I couldn't speak, was unable to make an attempt at forming words. Simply dumbstruck.  
  
Toy took this as a sign that I was about to run and leaned his head against my leg, seeming so tired, so unlike the creature I had seen upon the dance floor. The image of a gothic marionette, it's strings of silk cut, laying collapsed upon the floor filled my mind as I looked at Toy. A hand reached out to brush his bangs from his eyes, behind his ears, fingers trailing along his jawbone. Then I knew. I knew why he danced , with such abandon, such raw emotion. It made sense... and I knew. He'd never be alone.  
  
It isn't easy for me to write these things. Memories of our times together bring both smiles and tears. Toy was a conundrum, a complexity of emotions that vied for domination in me. In his arms i experienced pleasures and pains, high and lows. With him I had lived a multitude of lives, never really knowing what we would do next, or with whom we would do it. The day Danny came to tell me the news... the day... the day that the satyr came to tell me that Toy was... I was crushed. The visions I had seen, the duchy i had known these months, the chimera Toy had conjured for our amusement, all of them were no more and would never be again. My heart was shattered, ripped asunder by the words which came form Toy's most trusted friend. Had I known he hadn't been taking his AZT I'd have made him, had I known he wasn't going to the Clinic like I'd thought he was, I'd have taken him by force. But Toy's D'an had dictated otherwise. I took what little comfort I could in Danny's arms, between Danny's thighs. Before he left that night he spoke about the fae soul and how it tends to pop up again sometimes... sometimes in the same lifetime as those it left behind.  
  
One of Danny's Kinain had a son last month... 


End file.
